


Curses Best Burned

by Anonymous



Series: Best Burned [4]
Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Angst, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Truth Spells, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Harry gets hit with a truth spell. Thomas discovers something about Harry's time with Justin.
Relationships: Harry Dresden & Thomas Raith, Harry Dresden/Johnny Marcone
Series: Best Burned [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012236
Comments: 8
Kudos: 90
Collections: anonymous





	Curses Best Burned

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline-- takes place a few days after the fifth scene of Memories Best Burned. Not what I thought the next story was going to be, but here we are.  
> Please, please, please heed the warnings. Past rape of a minor is the focus of this story.  
> Note on the spell Maeve hit Harry with: it works kind of like Thomas' Hunger does, basically-- makes him super attractive until it wears off. It's also a truth spell. Thomas is immune to the effects because he's White Court.  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy, and I love hearing from y'all.

When I entered Harry’s apartment, I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting. An emergency of some sort, at least. Harry hadn’t elaborated, had just asked me to come over, and that never prefaced anything good. 

I sure as hell hadn’t been expecting to get hit by a wall of wizard-scented lust. My Hunger surged, telling me to go find some young pretty thing and fuck them, and I had to close my eyes and take several deep breaths. 

When I had myself under control, I stepped inside, closed the door behind me, and confirmed what I suspected. My brother was curled on the couch, sweating lust out of his very pores. Mouse whined at me from his spot at Harry’s feet.

“Empty night, Harry. What happened?”

If it was anyone else, I would turn and run. But this was Harry. I wasn’t a threat to him.

“Maeve,” Harry managed. His voice was hoarse. 

Yeah, that tracked. “Why?”

“I wouldn’t fuck her.”

That also tracked. But the blunt, hard way Harry said it gave me another question.

“Truth spell?”

Harry nodded miserably. 

I sat carefully on the stool by the kitchen table. “Why call me? Why not just call up your mobster boyfriend and have him screw your brains out?”

“Trust you.” Harry bit out the words like they hurt. “Don’t want him here.”

I very carefully did not phrase what I said next as a question. “You called me because you knew I don’t like him, and that I wouldn’t call him. Which means you don’t trust him.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest. I raised my hand to forestall the objection. “In this state, anyway.”

My brother subsided. 

The implications of Harry not wanting his... whatever Marcone was... around right now...

“If Marcone did anything to you,” I said, very calmly, “I will make death look like a mercy.”

I knew how powerful my brother was. But I also knew who he was, and how much he would let the people he cared about do. 

If I was human, I wouldn’t have noticed the flinch. But then, if I was human, I wouldn’t have been able to smell the old fear that rose to the surface at the question.

“I’m going to rip his intestines out,” I snarled, turning for the door. 

Mouse growled. Harry probably didn’t hear it, but I sure did. 

I stared at the dog in surprise-- I would have thought Mouse would be completely on board. 

Then it hit me like a baseball bat to the head. 

I hadn’t been there, when they took Harry back from the Red Court. I had been in Detroit tracking the ringleaders of the kidnapping down. 

(They were dead now. Thoroughly, extremely dead.)

But Marcone had called me, and I had been there before Harry had showered, and Harry had smelled like the Red Court in a way that had made my demon rumble with fury. 

I hadn’t understood why, at the time. I had thought it was a territorial thing. 

“You were--”

Harry was on his feet and in my face in an instant. “Don’t you dare, Thomas,” he hissed. 

I shoved him back onto the couch. “Who?”

I needed to make sure they were dead. Everyone who had touched him. 

My brother bit through his lip trying not to answer. The blood in the air made my demon stir restlessly. I shoved it down again.

When I got the answer to this question, we would have plenty to hunt. 

When Harry’s answer came out, it was laced with a venom I’d rarely heard from him. “Which time?”

I froze. Then, low and deadly, “How many?”

“It depends,” Harry spat. “Do you mean the number of people, or the number of times? Because as drugged as Justin and the Red Court liked it, I don’t have an answer to either, but I guess I could estimate.”

Justin. The only Justin I knew of in Harry’s life was the man who had taken him in when he was...

“How old?” I ground out. I could feel my hands shaking.

Harry sighed, the anger draining out of him. “Thirteen, the first time.”

You know how some people say their vision goes red?

My vision went silver. 

When it cleared, Mouse was standing between me and the door, his hackles raised. Harry had a death grip on my shoulder. He was swaying on his feet.

“Thomas,” he said, like it wasn’t the first time he’d said it. “Thomas, it’s okay, they’re dead--”

It was the worry in his voice that brought me out of it. I let my brother steer me back over to the couch and push me down. He still reeked of lust, but now there was fear coming off of him, too. 

“You sure?” I asked. “All of them?”

His face twisted. I watched as he fought the curse. “No.”

“Who?”

Harry was glaring at me hard enough that I almost expected a _fuego_ to come at me. Through gritted teeth, he said, “I don’t know. Justin was into blindfolds.”

I nodded. Then, “I won’t call Marcone. But you should take a shower. I’ll bring you food and keep watch until the spell breaks.”

“I hate you for asking,” Harry said, casually, as I helped him into the bathroom.

“Figured,” I said. 

I deserved that. 

When Harry finally passed out, I stepped outside the door and, vaguely surprised my phone was still working, dialed a number I had never expected to voluntarily call. 

John Marcone picked up on the first ring. 

I had lied to my brother when I told him I wouldn’t call Marcone.

There was no way I was trusting Lara with this information, so Marcone was the only other option for tracking down names I had. 

“Mr. Raith,” he drawled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I didn’t bother asking how he knew it was me calling. “Did you know?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Did you know about Justin DuMorne?”

“Once more, you’ll have to be more specific.”

I said, “Justin DuMorne had friends. And liked blindfolds.”

Silence from Marcone’s end of the phone. The man didn’t even breathe for a moment. Then, “Mr. Raith, are you implying what I think you are?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“I see.” Marcone took a measured inhale. “I don’t suppose you would allow me the pleasure of killing them?”

“I’m willing to split the difference,” I said. “As long as you’re useful.”

“I’ll have the names by the end of the week,” Marcone said crisply, and he hung up. 

I went back inside. Mouse stared hard at me, then huffed in what sounded like approval. 

The dog was on my side, at least. 

I took a can of soup out of the cabinet and waited for Marcone’s call.


End file.
